


Seven Kisses

by LittlePageAndBird



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Jealousy, Parent-Child Relationship, Young!River
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4655343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlePageAndBird/pseuds/LittlePageAndBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s no-one’s boyfriend. No. Absolutely not.<br/>But there's a (tiny, miniscule, microscopic) chance he might just be River Song’s husband.<br/>The same very young River Song who he picked up from a club last night (but only after she’d finished dancing with strange men who were not him), who serenaded the Tardis with a Queen song dressed in his old scarf, and who is now not only nursing the hangover from hell but demanding that he make her breakfast.<br/>Who's he trying to kid? Amy’s right. He’s so married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little thing that I wrote for a lovely fellow Kinglet on Twitter, based on this prompt:  
> Drunk River at a club, Doctor walks in to find her dancing with a guy: CUE JELLY DOC.  
> It’s been a while since I wrote Eleven/River, but I thought I’d give it a go. Of course, I had to throw the Ponds in there too. Goes sometime between Let’s Kill Hitler and The Wedding of River Song (Series 6) for all of them.  
> Enjoy! :)

If the shriek of the doorbell hadn’t been enough to wake Rory, his wife’s feral cursing would have done it.

“I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna _kill_ him!”

Amy threw the front door open with such force that the Doctor, bouncing restlessly on the doorstep, recoiled backwards in fright. “Doctor, do you have _any_ idea what time it is?”

Their friend shifted his uncoordinated feet awkwardly. “I think River’s in trouble.”

“What?”

He thrust the psychic paper under their noses in response. “Look!”

They squinted at the message scrawled messily across it; coordinates, unmistakably, with a wonky row of kisses along the bottom. Amy cocked an eyebrow sceptically. “So she called you for help and put, what… seven kisses on the end?”

“But don’t you see, Pond? She never puts more than three. It’s obviously some sort of code. Come on, we need to go now before it’s too late.”

“Doctor, it’s three in the morning!”

“She’s your daughter!” he shouted across the garden, spinning around to push the Tardis door open. “I’m not being responsible for her!”

“Why not? You’re her boyfriend.”

“I am _no-one’s_ boyfriend.”

 

* * *

 

 

The moment he cracked the Tardis door open, the blaring thump of music and flashing lights hit them like a wave.

“Eurgh! What an assault on the senses!” The Doctor squeezed his eyes shut. “Where has she dragged us to now? Some sort of battle ground, no doubt.”

“In a way.” Amy stuck her head out of the door with a grin. “Yep. It’s a club.”

He blinked. “A club?”

“Yeah! You know, drinking, dancing. Come on, old man, you must have been to a club before!”

“At least she’s obviously not in any trouble,” Rory supplied, stepping outside with his best Protective Father stance.

“Well… what did the seven kisses stand for?”

“The amount of times flirtier she is now she’s had a few Tequilas?” Amy snorted with laughter, pressing her lips together when the Doctor cocked his head at her like a confused puppy.

“But why would she come here? It smells! And this isn’t _music_! It’s just- noise!” he spluttered, sticking his fingers in his ears.

“Alright, granddad!”

“What?”

“Doesn’t matter. Come on! If I know my daughter, she’ll be by the bar.”

“You must be so proud.”

“Oh! Found her.”

The Doctor followed Amy’s pointed finger until his gaze fell upon the inevitable giveaway; that mass of curls, unique in the universe with all their manic twists and turns, that seldom did anything less than dissolve his hearts into useless pulsating puddles of mush between his ribs.

He always saw her hair before he saw her; he had a distinct memory of sonicing it on several occasions, trying to determine the source of its hypnotising powers. Never found anything suspicious; apparently being River was magic enough.

When his eyes eventually trailed downwards, the inside of his mouth ran dry; squeezed into an alarmingly short strappy black number and swaying in time to the music on blood-red heels was River Song. And perhaps he’d have enjoyed the view a little more, had the two large hands planted on her waist turned the entire vision sour. She wasn’t dancing alone.

In the low lights the figure she was currently grinding against was little more than a burly silhouette, but the few seconds before River heard her mother’s calls and came sashaying over was enough of an image to leave the Doctor’s face twisting in a disgusted scowl.

“Oh, it worked! I’ve got to start doing that more. Hello sweetie!”

God, but if she wasn’t beautiful under the full glare of the spotlights. River Song could bring an army to its knees whether in the light of a supernova or a single distant star; skin that always seemed to bear the faint golden glow that came in the aftermath of regeneration; impossible, but that was River. There was a lot of that particular skin on show tonight - not that he noticed! – enough to turn every head as she paraded through the crowd. She never lost that power. But with her close enough, the untamed wildness flashing like an alarm in her eyes told him more than diaries could – he was getting good at this. The River before him was very young. And very, very drunk.

She made a noise like some sort of feral cat, those eyes raking over his form hungrily. “I forgot how pretty you are. Hello, mother,” she added absent-mindedly, her stare never leaving him.

He gaped at her uselessly, flailing hands clamping at his sides to avoid touching things that her parents probably wouldn’t thank him for. “How much have you had to drink?”

River’s laugh sounded like a gurgling drain as she reached up to play with the lapels of his jacket clumsily. “ _Yes_.”

The Doctor pursed his lips, gripping onto her silky hips out of necessity lest she tumble head-first onto the stone dance floor. “Who was-?”

Rory, finally catching up with them, pried the Doctor’s hands away from his daughter with a pointed glare to drape his coat around her bare shoulders.

“ _Da-ad_!” she moaned, rolling her eyes. “Are you serious? It’s boiling in here!”

“Now - don’t sass me, young lady. You might be older than me but I can still ground you.”

“Why did you… summon me?” the Doctor grouched, yelping as River’s dancing partner knocked against him before composing himself and squaring his narrow shoulders.

“I needed a lift.”

“A _lift_?”

“Yeah! Back to my dorm. Hop to it, time boy.” She clicked her fingers in front of his nose, nodding to the Tardis in the corner of the club.

 

* * *

 

 

River flounced around the Tardis like some wild creature let loose; when she inevitably disappeared into the depths of the ship, singing an old Queen song off-key at the top of her lungs, it was left to Amy to run after her. The Doctor, on the other hand, had given himself the task of fuming silently at the controls and trying his utmost best not to enjoy his little box being filled with song - in every sense of the word.

“I understand. She takes after her mother,” Rory clarified in a whisper when the Doctor’s brow furrowed. “You can’t control a Pond.”

“And you can’t bottle up a River.”

They chuckled at their own puns. “At least you don’t have to worry about her,” Rory assured him. “You’ve seen her future; you _know_ she ends up with you. Do you know what so many blokes on Earth would give for a quick hop in a time machine to find out that sort of thing?”

“Rory, I thought I’d taught you better than that!” he admonished, shaking his head. “Come on! You know how time works; certain points are fixed, but the rest is all in flux, changeable. It’s being re-written all the time. Maybe in the version of River’s life we’ve seen she never met that- that _man_. Maybe everything’s changed now and she’ll end up marrying him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. She just drunk-danced with him in a club! I don’t know how courtships worked on Gallifrey, but that’s generally not how women meet their future husbands.”

“Even so, aren’t students supposed to- to study?” He huffed. “Not pay visits to astonishingly loud places where everybody wears- wears-” His hands flailed uselessly, making vaguely obscene gestures until Rory glared at him.

“Daughter.”

“Sorry. Well- you’re her dad! Don’t you think it’s- inappropriate?”

“Funny how you recognise that this is inappropriate, but you two seem to think that doing things to each other around the other side of the console is fine – which, by the way, that rotor? _Glass_. Transparent.”

The Doctor silently thanked whatever nearby deities might be present when Amy came rattling downstairs, cutting off the increasingly blush-inducing lecture. “Found her. She’s in the wardrobe.”

“And you left her there? With my hats?” he asked frantically.

“He was just moaning about River dancing with a bloke who’s not him,” Rory muttered, earning a scowl from the Doctor for telling tales.

“I bet he was.” Amy prodded her best friend in the chest, raising a knowing eyebrow. “You only hate it because you weren’t the one she was dancing with. You’re jealous.”

“I am _not_ -! No, no, absolutely not. That woman and- whatever she gets up to, that is nothing to do with me.”

“Hilarious.”

“What?”

“You, still trying to pretend you’re not interested! Who are you trying to kid? You’re crazy about our daughter and don’t try to deny it.”

“Amy! I am a thousand-year-old Time Lord-”

“Oh, you might be a thousand-year-old Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey, the Oncoming Storm, whatever, but when River’s in the room you’re like a schoolboy with a crush! I was right the first time I met her – mother’s instinct. You’re _so_ married!”

“Who’s married?”

The three of them spun on their heels to find River sliding down the handrail with more grace than the average intoxicated person would be capable of, an elaborate violet hat adorned with an ostrich feather balanced on her curls and a very recognisable striped scarf slung around her neck. “What sort of clothes are these?” she asked, swirling the end of the scarf like a lasso and flinging it around the Doctor’s neck. “I thought the bow tie was bad.”

Amy winced. “Please don’t tell me you actually used to wear those.”

The Doctor shook his head insistently. “The hat? No! I’d never wear that hat.”

“What about the scarf?”

“…I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

* * *

 

 

He was forced to half-carry River out of the Tardis doors and into her dorm room, the pair of them tangled up in his old scarf and River mumbling comments in his ear that made a fiery flush creep into his cheeks.

“River, it’s so messy in here!” Rory scolded.

“Then tidy it.” She flopped onto her bed with a sigh, throwing an arm across her forehead. “’m fine now. You can go. Unless…” Patting the bedsheets next to her, she lifted her head enough to throw an over-exaggerated wink at the Doctor.

“It might not be the best idea to proposition me while your parents are in the room, dear.”

She scoffed, jutting out her bottom lip in a huff. “I should have called Alejandro.”

He bristled instantly, eyes narrowing. “Who’s _Alejandro_? Is that who you were dancing with?”

Her mother whistled under her breath. “With the black hair? He was- sorry.” She dipped her head under the twin glare she received from the men.

“Did he have black hair?” River giggled. “I really didn’t notice anything above those tight trousers.” She flipped over suddenly, burying her face in the pillows. Think I’ll go to sleep now,” she mumbled thickly, curling up like a small child under her father’s jacket.

Amy cast a warning glance towards the Doctor, still slouched in the doorway with folded arms and a scowl etched into his features. “Oi Raggedy Man! Are you gonna sulk there all night?”

He twisted his jaw. “What sort of a name is Alejandro?”

“What sort of a name is _Doctor_?!”

River’s snort of laughter at her mother’s comment turned into a soft snore. The Doctor gestured at her. “There. She’s asleep. She doesn’t need or want me here, she’d rather _Alejandro_ were here, so I’ll just be leaving now-”

“Hey! Don’t you dare get into that box!” Amy warned. Rory flinched instinctively, throwing the Doctor a sheepish look from where he sat folding River’s crumpled clothes that had been strewn across the floor. “Look, get that look off your face! She didn’t go home with what’s-his-face, did she? She called you. You’re always the one she goes home with. You’re the one she calls when she’s lonely; oh by the way, when she phoned you last week she was staying at ours, so you owe us a couple of hundred quid for the bill.”

His chocolatey puppy-dog eyes watched River dolefully from under his quiff. “I don’t know why she didn’t phone me if she wanted to go out for the night. I could have taken her anywhere. But all she wanted from me was a lift.”

“So what if she has a life without you? Do you invite her on every spacey adventure? No you don’t. You meet _loads_ of girls! And you flirt.”

The Doctor gasped, mouth opening and closing uselessly like a fish out of water. “I do _not_ -!”

“Yes you do. Did she hold it against you when you were young?”

His eyes widened. “ _Amelia_! She didn’t hold her _anything_ against me, thank you very much, we’re not even married-”

“Oh my god, no – Doctor! I mean, in her future she has to put up with you being young. It’s only fair that you do the same for her. So,” she clicked her fingers, jerking her head towards the bed.

He scuffed the carpet with his shoe bashfully, beaten once again by his fiery best friend. “ _She_ gets jealous too, you know.”

“There you are. You’re both so head-over-high-heels in love with each other that it’s made you stupidly possessive; might not be the healthiest way to have a relationship, but at least it’s not boring.”

He smiled wryly. “Is that what you tell Rory?”

Amy nudged him in the ribs. “Just go and sit with her, ok? Be a good little future-husband and make sure she doesn’t choke on her sick in her sleep. We’re going to bed.”

“I have to sit here all _night_?” he yelped incredulously. “In – in _one_ room?!”

She smiled knowingly. “Compromise! It’s called marriage. Night!”

He was running out of convincing ways to argue with her about that.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time River stirred, it was to release a string of profanities tumbled together with groans. The Doctor set the Rubik’s Cube he’d been attempting in vain to solve atop the waist-high tower of books beside the bed that he’d polished off while she was sleeping. “Morning, honey!”

“Shhh!” River hissed, squinting up at him perplexedly through bloodshot eyes. “How did I get home?”

“I picked you up. You sent me a message.”

“Did I?” She frowned at the coat still around her shoulders. “Were my parents here?”

He nodded. “They’re asleep in the Tardis. Sorry I brought them along; I thought you might be in trouble.”

She waved a hand at him without opening her eyes. “Ah, they’re used to it. They’ve fetched me from nights out enough times. Clubs, bars… cells. I miss being Mels, it was a riot.” A thoroughly smug grin stretched across her face. “Now I’m River the reformed psychopath, you expect me to be all sensible.”

Her nose wrinkled in disgust, and he couldn’t help chuckling as he bopped it. “Oh, honey. If I expected you to be even remotely sensible, you’d do nothing but disappoint me.”

The little smile that curved up her lips sent an involuntary flutter through his hearts. “How are you at cooking?” she asked suddenly.

“Splendid.”

“How do you feel about putting on my polka-dot apron and making me a fry-up?”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Can I wear a chef’s hat?”

“I don’t have a chef’s hat.”

“I do!” He grinned brightly, scrambling to his feet. “My fry-ups are the best in the universe! You’re in for a treat, River Song.”

She cradled her head in her hand with a light groan, but she was smiling. “Do you have to be so loud _all_ the time?”

“Yes. And you love it.”

She threw the duvet over her head. “Shut up and get cooking, pretty boy.”

As much as it begrudged him to admit that Amy was right, for the first time since meeting River Song, he allowed himself to not just believe but hope that he was making breakfast for his future wife.


End file.
